


Persephone and Icarus

by scribble_dee_vee



Series: After the Flight: Dialogues [1]
Category: Greek Mythology, Roman Mythology - Fandom
Genre: :D, Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, I'm loving this angsty mythology stuff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Screenplay/Script Format, Series, Short, and then we'll see what happens!, not gonna lie, there's one more installment in this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribble_dee_vee/pseuds/scribble_dee_vee
Summary: A goddess approaches a soul by the Styx. A boy refuses to cross into Hades.





	Persephone and Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Finally finished part two. It took a little longer than part one, but c'est la vie- I like how it ultimately turned out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope your day is ultra-fabulous <3

PERSEPHONE: Boy,

Do you know your way across the river?

It’s easy, if you have a coin. I have one that you can borrow. You go down to the bank there, and you look for a lantern- it beams across the Styx, through the mist, like a sprout through fresh-turned earth. It’s beautiful. Almost like a star.

Charon is kind enough, if you pay.

_Icarus glances up, at last, from his place on the bank of the Styx. He glows, faintly, a smudge of cold shadow against sand as black as sin itself. His tears spill in wisps of ghostly silver. Feathers, like broken fingers, still cling to his back._

_Persephone’s hair falls like petals, like beaten copper coins, over the front of her black chiton. She bends down to hand him a coin._

PERSEPHONE: Take it to the ferryman. He’ll bring you to the other side, and then- 

ICARUS: I know how to pass.

_A veil obscures Persephone’s face. Her eyes glow green through the cloth._

PERSEPHONE: Why, then, have you remained on this bank?

ICARUS: I shouldn’t be dead.

PERSEPHONE: Well, you are.

ICARUS: I shouldn’t be dead!

_The shout echoes and bounces across the waves of the Styx, like a stone might across a clear pond. Icarus’ ghostly tears pool on his fingers, where he clutches them close to his mouth. They’re more viscous than the tears of the living. They’re tears of memory. Tears made from the same stuff of souls._

ICARUS: I was stupid. I was sun-drunk. I was young and used to darkness. Do you know how it feels, to emerge from eternal dark into brilliant light? Do you know how the sea spray tastes to a tongue steeped in dirt? Do you know how it intoxicates to soar as a bird, how affected a mind can become in open air?

PERSPHONE: I know how it feels.

ICARUS: It wasn’t my fault. I shouldn’t be dead. It’s not fair, goddess. 

PERSEPHONE: Death is never fair.

You think that you’re the only soul that Hades stole too soon? You think there is any just time to be sucked from the world of the living?

ICARUS: My father can’t go on without me. He has no one left. He shouldn’t suffer because of my mistake.

PERSEPHONE: Every person on earth yearns for someone beneath it.

ICARUS: He can’t manage alone. He is old.

PERSEPHONE: Then he will be here soon. Do you want him to find you in eternal stubbornness, your self-imposed Purgatory here? Or do you want him to meet you across the bank in untroubled rest?

You’ve no reason to mourn yourself. All mortals die.

ICARUS: You’ll never understand how that feels.

PERSEPHONE: You are ignorant and insolent. I understand exactly how it feels.

_The Styx makes no sound. Its dark waters churn as if a storm is on the way._ _A bright light cuts through the mist across the waves, catching Persephone’s hair, turning tresses into tendrils of flame and ash. Lengths of forest fire. She becomes, before him, a terrible Spring. She is rebirth from ruination. _

_He cringes back from her bald divinity._

PERSEPHONE: The realm of mortals is beautiful, boy. It thrives and rejoices in life. It is the natural home of flowers and birds and blossoming trees, all the good things of nature. It is where I belong, where I was created to dwell- and yet I am here, beneath it, buried in the dark. Why is that?

ICARUS: Oh gods, preserve me!

PERSEPHONE: Why is that?

ICARUS: How should I know?

PERSEPHONE: Because I met exactly the same fate as you. Hades took me. He ensnared me. He ripped me from my life and from my family.

I ate a few seeds, because even the gods grow hungry. Just a few seeds. They left juice like tar on my skin. They stuck my teeth together. I couldn’t speak a word for days. Now, I am trapped here for half of every year. I cannot do my duty as a goddess of nature. I sit a throne as a hunting trophy beside my wicked hunter.

Does that sound fair?

ICARUS: No. No.

PERSEPHONE: I died, Icarus. I die every year. The Fates have wronged me, just as they have wronged you.

_A flock of souls has gathered on the bank. A phantom craft comes into view. It glowers, the color of old blood. The ferryman holds a long pole. The gleaming light on the prow of his boat obscures his face from view._

PERSEPHONE: Yet, I do not sit in Purgatory and cry for myself.

_The spirits begin to climb the ferry. Its sides weep rust. Icarus shivers_.

ICARUS: I am afraid.

PERSEPHONE: Naturally.

ICARUS: I am ashamed to be afraid.

PERSEPHONE: Pride doesn’t mete out half the rewards that it takes. Do not be ashamed to fear Thanatos.

All mortals die, Icarus. But that doesn’t mean you must readily embrace the opposite shore. The world of the living is a beautiful world, for all its faults. It’s always difficult to leave. Every time, I weep.

ICARUS: I wish I’d had more time.

PERSEPHONE: Oh, I know.

_Charon turns his head, in question, toward the shore. His face is invisible in the folds of his cloak. She doesn’t need to do anything to stall him. Her stance is enough; her eyes are enough; she is Queen of the Dead, and the ferryman obeys her._

PERSEPHONE: Come, now. The next boat won’t arrive for years.

_She extends her arm. Her nails are sharp. Her skin is grave-pale. She waits to take Icarus’ hand with patience, with resilience, as a gardener waits for seeds to grow. As Persephone herself waits for Spring, every year._

_In the world above and the underworld below, there is no one better at waiting._

_But Icarus does not make her wait long._


End file.
